


Sweet Dreams

by tatecorrigan



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, life support au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 02:35:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4902256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatecorrigan/pseuds/tatecorrigan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here's 2000 words of smut, with a side helping of sad feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Dreams

He’s woken from a dream of some sort— _probably a bad one_ —to the gentle whirring of the ceiling fan, shadows looping lazily through the dim light from the streetlamp outside. There’s the sound of mumbling from the floor. “Mnrgh.”

Nux turns and looks down, and there’s Slit, sprawled, blanket hardly serving its purpose anymore, muttering nonsensically in his sleep. Motherfucker always has been a chatty sleeper and tonight is no exception, apparently. Come to think of it they did finish off that whole carton of ice cream between the two of them, it being practically the only thing Nux can stomach these days, while Slit just eats like a locust any time he visits the Rockatansky home because there’s never enough where he comes from, despite the best intentions. So it’s the sugar that’s got to him, probably, got him restless and jittery even in his sleep.

It’s not even something that should have woken Nux, really, because Slit sleeps here all the time. Somewhere between “fellow cancer patient” and “best friend” Slit turned into something else, some sort of companion that can’t quite be classified, a constant presence whose schedule for eating, for sleeping, for treatments is the same, or near enough that the difference doesn’t matter, and they’re both just waiting and fighting to survive at the same time, vacillating between boredom and terror depending on the day and how they slept the night before. Already it feels like tomorrow might be somewhere toward the middle of the scale, good enough to get out of bed but still exhausting enough that the afternoon is a wash, sacrificed instead to watching cartoons on the couch.

Nux sighs, repositions his head on the pillow, waiting for his eyelids to droop again, hoping to get some sort of rest, when he sees that Slit’s moving, too, on top of all that sleep-talking, his leg twitching. Slit grunts, and shifts, a knee spreading out across the floor, his bare thigh pale, disappearing into the leg of his underwear and—

Is that.

Oh.

_Oh._

Nux feels the thrill up his spine and the base of his brain twitches in realization before the decency to be embarrassed kicks in. Slit’s pitched a tent, plain as day, and even in the dim light Nux can see a dark spot hinting of dampness, right at the, right at the tip of his—

Oh god.

There’s another sigh. Slit is stirring. Nux can see his hips tilting up, see the swell in Slit’s boxers, and a breath dies, strangled, in Nux’s throat as he strains his eyes, willing himself to see better in the dark, because he needs confirmation, can’t believe it, really, is it really? And Slit’s arm is twitching, fingers curling spasmodically, as a moan passes through his lips, and the sound of it is low and husky and dense in the darkness. 

Nux turns over and realizes he’s gone from six to full midnight, his underwear uncomfortably tight. He lies prone and tries to take calming deep breaths, but the tumors under the skin near his throat sure are making that difficult, sharp, stinging pains radiating into the left side of his throat, bringing up the faint coppery taste of blood. Once again he’s reminded of the ever-present threat of those little tumors, tiny death threats stabbing into his windpipe every goddamn day and night when the painkillers wear off. Funny, he thinks, he’s at the brink of death and here he is thinking about his best buddy’s hard-on while sporting one of his own, making it worse.

And _Jesus_ is this making it worse. He knew, already, has been aware of some… _feelings_ that have been developing, some attraction growing small and undisturbed in the pit of his belly. It rises to the surface only occasionally, when they flout the doctor’s orders and head down the street to the closest bar, tossing back three, four, more drinks before stumbling back home, Slit’s hand holding him up by the belt loops. Maybe he presses into that friendly guiding hand a little more than necessary, savoring when Slit’s fingertips brush against the bare skin of his lower back exposed between shirt and pants. And maybe sometimes when Slit dumps his drunk ass into bed he clings to Slit’s shirt a little longer than he should, pulling Slit down with him and each time hoping he won’t feel like getting up and will just, just lay with him, close, heavy, warm.

But Slit always gets up, or at least rolls over and falls onto the floor, pulling a pillow and Nux’s throw blanket down with him, shucking his pants and curling up like some loyal puppy at the side of Nux’s bed. And each time Nux fights the temptation to trail his hand over the edge of the bed to stroke at Slit’s head, tickle his scalp and see what kind of noises he makes.

Nux is considering turning on the lamp near his head, and it’s a debate raging almost as much as his boner. On the one hand, he could get a better look at what exactly is going on down there, near the floor. On the other hand, a sudden shift in lighting might make Slit wake up. But it might not, either…

He’s so focused on this roiling internal argument that he almost jumps when Slit mumbles a distinctly audible “mmffuck,” and Nux watches in fascinated horror as the dark spot at the front of Slit’s underpants expands slightly, and Slit goes still. The giddiness that’s been swirling in his belly threatens to come up his throat so he jams a fist against his mouth, barely stifling a noise that falls firmly between a giggle and a whine.

Fuck but he wants to touch himself now, wants to reach down and stroke, wants to curl up around himself like some creep watching his sleeping friend with wide, wild eyes. Almost without thinking he snakes a hand down and palms himself over his briefs, presses in until it’s uncomfortable, willing this to _go away go away just fucking chill the fuck out, would ya_. But he only tenses up more and hears the squeak in his throat as his balls throb in protest.

It’s, what, he checks the alarm clock, three-thirty in the morning, and just like clockwork he can hear the muffled stumble as Max rises for his middle-of-the-night piss. The floorboards creak as he passes in the hallway, there’s a distant cough and the sound of a clearing throat, then a few moments of silence before the toilet flushes and the shuffling happens in reverse.

Nux thinks about heading for the now vacant bathroom and working out this problem with a few furious minutes of privacy, but can’t shake the fear of being overheard. And what if Slit wakes up? Asks him where he’s going? He could lie, say he’s going to take a leak, but then what if Slit doesn’t immediately fall back asleep, wonders what’s taking him so long? Nux could do this fast but not _that_ fast, he thinks, and then he thinks again when an idea comes to him, finding a solution to his sordid little problem.

Experimentally Nux raises his head, and when that doesn’t seem to provoke any response he slowly, glacially paced, pushes back the comforter, toes sliding toward the edge of the bed, and now he’s got one leg off, sitting up as he’s touching ground and shifting his weight. He is sitting up, feet on the ground, breathing carefully as he watches his friend sleep. Silent and still, for what feels like minutes, until he is confident in his success, and he stands up, wincing as his joints pop thunderously.

The sound is like a starting gun so he takes off, gingerly picking his way across the floor, carefully placing his feet and picking them up again, hand settling on the doorknob and turning it with all the precise control of a master thief picking at a bank vault. He hears the faint click of the catch release and then he is through the door like a shot, pulling it behind him with the same dedication to silence, invisibility, was never here at all, just a shadow.

Goddammit his breath is heaving in his ears, and he wishes he weren’t such a fucking mouth-breather, so goddamn _loud_ all the time. Slit once teased him, told him he sounded just like the masked guy in that Halloween movie, and Nux had stumbled toward him in loose imitation until they were both breathless from laughing. Nux stalks the hallway to the top of the stairs and grips the handrail for support as he descends ghostlike to the first floor, turning a corner and shifting into the half-bath.

Now he’s in, bare feet chilled by the tile, quietly, quietly pushing the door closed, the gentle click of the latch making his heart pound. Before he’s turned all the way he’s got a hand down the front of his briefs, stroking at his turgid cock, fingers cupping at his balls, leaning over the sink and avoiding his own reflection in the mirror. _Godfuckingdammit but this is fucked up_ , he thinks as he twists his wrist, his best—only—friend upstairs sleeping on his floor and he’s down here touching himself to the thought of it. Only not really because now he’s remembering the feel of Slit’s fingertips across the small of his back and it makes his ass clench, makes him thrust deeper into his own hand.

His mind jumps and he wonders what Slit was dreaming of, when he came sleepily in his own underwear, there on the floor, wonders what absurd dreamscape might have painted itself across the backs of Slit’s eyelids to provoke such a reaction. Impossible visions float through his own mind’s eye now: of Slit on his knees, mouth red and wet; of Slit curled against him, hips curving into his; of Slit on his floor, naked except for his underwear just like he is now, except his eyes are open and looking up at him hungrily, a question, a challenge, an invitation.

Nux can feel his breath passing over his lips from his open mouth and they feel lonely, so lonely, so he presses two fingertips to them and for an instant imagines they’re Slit’s and it’s such a dangerous thought that he is undone, completely undone. His hand is sliding over the head of his cock and he is coming, coming but not stopping, wants to keep feeling this way for a minute, just another minute, just a little longer, if he can…

A grunt busts loose from his lips as the last spasm ricochets through him and splatters into the sink. He drops his hand and rests, leans against the counter for a moment, willing the strength back into his legs before he turns the tap and splashes water around the basin to clean up. Wipes his hands and tucks his shrinking, spent cock away, avoiding his own gaze as he looks up at the mirror. “Fuck,” he mutters, then turns and quietly opens the door.

Nux balances on his toes as he lightly hops up the steps, booking it back to his room. Cracks the door open and Slit’s there, still on the floor, now turned on his belly and sprawled like some unself-conscious animal, more relaxed than he ever is in waking. Nux steps over him and slides back into bed, pulling the comforter up to his ears before exhaling deeply.

His eyes flick again toward the figure on the floor. In a few hours Slit will wake up, groaning and with drool dried across one cheek, and they’ll both pull on yesterday’s pants and head out to some shitty diner for soggy French toast. “ _Fraaanch_ ,” Slit will pronounce it, and cackle at his own joke with a mouth full of food, like he always does. And Nux will pay for them both, because he’s got money and Slit doesn’t, like he always does.

There’s a weight settling in his chest, now, a heaviness driving his heart down into his stomach, pulling at something that makes his throat tighten with the threat of sobbing, a cry from nowhere within him he can consciously recall but knows must be, must be a small hidden place in him, where certain feelings hide. Nux turns to the wall and clenches his jaw, muscles tensing as he considers biting his own tongue to make it stop.

It’s an ache he can feel in his teeth.


End file.
